


Deception & Misdirection

by Gowombat83



Series: Cullistair [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Cullistair, Dom!Alistair, M/M, NSFW, Not What It Looks Like, Play on words, Possible TW for dub-con, Shameless kinks, Writers with kinks, king and commander, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 23:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gowombat83/pseuds/Gowombat83
Summary: A hardened King Alistair wants what he wants, whether or not the focus of his desire - his stern and reluctant Commander- reciprocates. But ever the obedient soldier Cullen will do his duty to King and Crown, whatever that entails.





	Deception & Misdirection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurlana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurlana/gifts).



> For Aurlana, my own personal kink-fairy ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Without spoiling things let me just say- the title is telling!

 

“Ah, Commander, is it mid-meal already? The day seems to have gotten away from me. Please,” the King smiled and held out a hand towards the opposite couch from his own, “come in. Sit. Wine?” he offered.

“Your Majesty,” Cullen bowed stiffly from the waist, his expression carefully constructed to show nothing at all, “no, thank you,” he declined the drink but took the chair, sitting straight-backed on the very edge.

King Alistair leaned into the deeply cushioned chair, plush and tastefully expensive as was everything in his well-appointed royal suite. He watched the Commander of the Ferelden army in silence as the servants finished setting out a lavish lunch and filed out, closing the doors to the King’s chamber and leaving the two men alone.

Their daily appointment often began this way- the Commander always painfully polite was shown into the formal sitting room of his suite, the servants would follow with platters and bowls and cups for their meal, and they would be left alone to converse, dine, occasionally play chess.

As far as the staff were concerned, this time was set aside for whatever matters might be too important for anyone other than the two most powerful men in Ferelden. As such the sanctity of this standing meeting was upheld with solemn respect by all- except in the most dire of circumstances they were not to be disturbed.

It was a source of amusement for the monarch- if only they knew.

Allowing a small smile to curl his lip the King broke the silence, he knew if he waited for his Commander to speak first they’d be sitting in silence for the whole hour, “Did you take the potion?”

The general clenched his jaw and swallowed before giving a terse nod.

“How long?” Alistair was unperturbed by the man’s reticence.

“Ten minutes, Majesty,” came the tight-lipped reply.

Alistair brightened at that, “Good, good! Not a moment wasted. Shall we?” he stood and strode to the ornate double doors that separated his private bedchambers from the space designated for receiving guests. He opened one and motioned for the Commander to enter.

His smile remained wide and comfortable on his face as his general reluctantly rose from the couch. Standing to attention, hands clasped professionally behind his back he gave no obvious indication of either anticipation or aversion. Alistair watched with a hard glint and caught the momentary flicker of _something_ pass over his tightly controlled mask. Someone who didn’t know him better would have missed it, but not Alistair.

Oh yes, to the world Alistair Theirin was a fair ruler, shrewd but relatable, intelligent, affable and generally well liked; but everyone had their weaknesses, their secrets- even Kings.

The stony-faced soldier passed him and took up a position at the foot of the bed. He stood feet slightly apart, shoulders back and straight as though he were standing before his armies, and waited. Not once did his countenance falter. He stared dead-eyed at the oversized, over-stuffed, and over-all excessive bed of the King of Ferelden.

Alistair allowed his gaze to roam openly over the tall, muscular man. His unabashed appreciation unfettered in this, his most personal space where they were assured absolute privacy. It sent sudden waves of heat shimmering through him, and he felt his cock twitch as he slowly circled his prey with greedy eyes.

“Your armour,” he noted suddenly, though it was only the ceremonial garb that denoted his rank and title, it was a hindrance they did not need, “remove it,” Alistair’s voice was soft but the tone was one of authority. He wielded it in the bedroom as he did at court, a weapon that brooked no argument but expected to be obeyed without hesitation.

As the Commander complied, tugging on buckles and straps the King himself began to unbutton his own elaborate vestments. All the while he walked with measured steps - first one way, then the other – a constant stalking movement that let him take in the full effect of his general, eyes never leaving the object of his building lust.

The smile turned into something sharp when the pile of armour laid with careful precision on the floor by his feet left the blonde man in only a shirt and breeches. The quality of the fabric allowing it to drape silkily over the bulging arms and abdomen, it left the monarchs mouth dry with want to run his hands over it, to feel the hard beneath the soft, to slide the rich garment over taught and tanned skin…. but their time was limited. Even a King had a schedule and in order to maintain their little deception he must keep to it.

He removed the embroidered and brocaded costume of his own elevated station and laid the pieces carefully on a high-backed chair by the cold hearth- it wouldn’t do to crease them, he had dignitaries and diplomats to entertain later in the afternoon, once his current “meeting” was concluded.

Leaving himself bare chested and barefoot, Alistair once again turned his attention to his Commander- the great and renowned Commander Cullen Rutherford- former Commander of the now disbanded Inquisition, the second most influential person in the kingdom. All those titles, all that power brought to heel before him- his own personal toy soldier.

“Why are you here?” he asked, almost conversationally.

A confused frown wrinkled the otherwise unyielding expression of nothingness, “I do not understand your Majesty. You requested my presence for the mid-meal hour, as is your custom.”

“Not that, I mean, when I instated you as Commander of Ferelden, second in command to the throne, you took vows. Repeat them.”

With relish he watched the throat work to swallow, watched the bob of his Mefareths Apple, wondering how it would feel under his lips. The Commander cleared his throat and began-

“I, Cullen Rutherford, do hereby pledge myself to the throne of Ferelden in service to King and country. I swear to uphold the duty of Commander of the Armies, to protect and defend with honour and obedience. My loyalty to my Lord and the crown shall be absolute, I shall serve in any need, even unto death, so I swear.”

“In obedience, in any need, to service the crown in absolute loyalty.” Alistair mused aloud as he moved to stand behind the slightly shorter though still towering man. He rested his hands lightly upon the broad shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his palms even as they remained still. One slid down the hard plain of muscled back, and upon reaching the curve of his waist curled around to the front and down, cupping the growing bulge in the other man’s leather pants.

After a brief pause where he only cradled his half-firm manhood to feel the thrill of pleasure in his own groin, he moved again. He stepped to the side of his large bed and reached to unbutton his own pants, hooking a thumb in his smallclothes he pulled them down as he sat and let them fall from his legs. Bare now he shifted to recline against the pile of pillows against the solid carved timber headboard. He allowed one hand to trail down his chest and stomach and wrap gently about his almost full erection. Giving himself a few slow strokes before speaking again, he noted the prominent tenting of the Commanders trousers and smiled.

“I desire you, Commander, as you know, and I quite enjoy our daily luncheon together. However I’ve noticed a certain hesitancy, or perhaps even reluctance from you since we began our little _arrangement._ I must admit, I’d hoped by now that you might have gained some confidence in this respect, maybe even grown to enjoy our trysts, but I see that so far this isn’t the case.” His tone abruptly shifted from conversational to indifferent “So, if you can’t find it in yourself to find pleasure in it, perhaps you’ll at least console yourself in the fulfilment of your sworn duty. It matters not to me.”

Alistair beckoned the Commander to join him on the bed, and hummed in thirsty anticipation when he dropped his own pants to crawl naked from the foot of the bed and position himself between the Kings welcomingly spread thighs. Now both fully hard they lay stomach to stomach.

The general kept his chest raised a few inches from Alistair’s, braced on his hands either side of his shoulders. Though he followed each demand with military proficiency his face remained impassive. He’d learned there was no use in denying the Kings wishes. He was there to follow orders, like a good soldier he always obeyed his superiors- and Alistair well knew it.

“That’s a good boy,” Alistair praised him, voice deceptively warm, “Just keep reminding yourself; I am your King, I _am_ the Crown, and you are the second most powerful man in this kingdom to which you’ve pledged yourself, save for _me.”_

He reached up and stroked two blunt fingers down the sharp line of his tensed jaw, even as he lowered the other hand between them to remove the smooth, round, polished bulb of stone that he’d been carrying inside himself since breakfast. Dropping the rounded plug off the edge of the bed he reached to the side table for a small vial of oil. Deft hands quickly uncorked it and the King lavishly slicked his stoically pliant bed partner’s impressive cock, giving it a few quick strokes purely for pleasure he got from handling the huge man and knowing he wouldn’t resist. With a final flick of the lubricant along his own length he set the tube aside and ran both hands down the tight and lean ribs hovering above him to grip his hips, and leaned to press his lips to one ear.

“Now,” he almost whispered, a devious glint in his eye “ _service me._ ”

At the command, the ever obedient general gritted his teeth and lined himself up to Alistair’s primed entrance. In a small act of defiance that didn’t bother the King in the least, he was perhaps less gentle than previous sessions. Hilting himself in three quick, sharp thrusts he committed to his task with single-minded determination, setting a punishing pace that had Alistair clinging with blunt digging fingers and breathlessly moaning in bare minutes.

Their coupling was raw, powerful, harsh flexes of hips rocked them together in an ever-quickening rhythm. Both panted short and ragged, beads of sweat blanketing them in a glistening sheen as the King was thoroughly and satisfyingly fucked. They ground their parts hard together where they joined,  Alistair’s cock trapped between their rolling bodies only heightened his pleasure.

While the Commander worked in near silent concentration the King had no such restraints and allowed himself to be as wantonly vocal as he wished.

When he was close Alistair stuffed two fingers in his mouth to liberally coat them in saliva before reaching around to insert them into his furiously thrusting general. The unexpected intrusion caused his bed mate to jolt forward, thereby jamming his cock hard into him and sending them both over the edge.

Alistair threw his head back in open-mouthed ecstasy, a loud deep groan riding on the exhale. Comparatively the other man curled inwards as he came, jaw and eyes clenched shut on a strained grunt of both surprise and release.  

They lay gasping in the aftermath of their rutting, Cullen barely keeping his full weight up on his shaking elbows rested his forehead in the crook of his lover’s neck. When he’d caught his breath enough to speak he drew back, a warm smile gracing his lips and creasing the corners of his eyes.

“That was surprisingly difficult. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep a straight face, especially when you started issuing commands. I wanted to tear your clothing off on the spot,” he leaned down to kiss him and Alistair eagerly reciprocated.

Separating, Alistair sank back into the pillows and heaved a happy sigh, “You were brilliant, I almost believed you were the unwilling stud, bound to enact the depraved whims of a deviant King. Was it everything you hoped it would be?” he asked, a little timidly.

“Maker yes! Better, in fact. You played your role astonishingly well,” Cullen hummed and pressed another long kiss to Alistair’s mouth, “it was all I could do remain in character. You were incredibly arousing playing the part of dominant and manipulative monarch. I felt every bit as though I were nothing more than a prized steed, fit only to be mounted and used to satisfy my lusty liege.” he grinned.

Alistair laughed, wrapping his arms about Cullen’s neck and drawing his full weight down to drape comfortingly over him.

Cullen reached beneath the pillows and crossed his arms behind Alistair’s head, nudging their noses before dipping again to ply soft kisses to Alistair’s own lips.

“I love you, you know,” he murmured into Cullen’s mouth, hands gently tracing lines across the now cooling skin of Cullen’s back.

“I love you too, my King,” his lover replied, and captured his mouth again.


End file.
